Four Times That Sam Winchester Attempted Fan Fiction
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, Humor
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word count: 2910
Summary: Four times that Sam Winchester attempted fan fiction, and the one time that he really didn't have to. Dean/Castiel ONESHOT.
AN: This was just one of my many daydreams that spawned into a fanfic; Shipper Sam is also one of my favourite things to write. Hope you all enjoy this.
As always, thanks to master of madness.
DISCLAIMER. I do not own Supernatural.
I.
The first time was in Chicago.
Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew that Chuck's Supernatural books had quite a wide following, and that, like anything else that had an extensive fan base, fan fiction existed across the wide database of the Internet. He hadn't actually delved too far into this, mind - he'd always been scared that he'd come out of the fan fiction world a different man than who he was when he went in, changed by reading too many fake stories about himself and his brother - but, occasionally, his curiosity had peaked long enough for him to read a small selection of what was out there. Of course, he never even entertained the idea that he himself would contribute anything towards the fan fiction world.
Until Chicago, that is.
The case was nothing special, just a mere salt and burn case that was cleared up in a single afternoon; it would probably have faded into the back of Sam's mind, stuffed in the mental drawer, if it wasn't for one thing and one thing alone that made it significant. It was the fact that, during the confrontation, the demon had managed to tackle his brother to the floor. And, why?
Because he was looking at Castiel.
He'd taken his eyes off things for a second, just to make sure that his brother and Cas were alright and still alive, but Cas had chosen that moment to also look up and check up on Dean - unsurprising, after all, since Dean was the Righteous Man, and Castiel's charge, and everything in between, it seemed. As Sam knew from experience, once Dean and Cas locked gazes, it could be several minutes before one of them looked away again. It was enough to make anyone feel like awkward; the younger Winchester was pretty sure that third wheel was now his default emotion when he stepped into a room with his brother and the angel. No wonder the demon chose that moment to try and take them down. The eye sex may never have ended if it hadn't.
Really, Sam thought, now that he was safely back in the bunker's library and sitting in his favourite chair, Dean set himself up with these things. No wonder a large portion of Chuck's fans thought that him and the Angel of the Lord had something going on; if those readers had been on that case with them, they would have had a field day.
To be perfectly honest, Sam was getting a little sick of the tension himself. The case today - which would be forever known in his mind as the Chicago Incident - was somehow made even more ridiculous by the fact that Dean and Cas were not actually doing anything apart from being unable to look away from each other. If they'd actually been doing something - kissing or whatnot - Sam could've understood how they would get so distracted. It might have scarred him a little bit, sure, but at least he could've understood.
He glanced at the laptop on the table in front of him, mind still mulling over those readers and their unshakable belief in Dean and Cas' supposed romantic entanglements. He could only imagine what type of stories would have emerged if Chuck ever wrote another Supernatural book and decided that the Chicago Incident was worthy enough of a place in that book...
Before he even really grasped what he was doing, he pulled the laptop towards him, opening up a blank document, fingers suddenly flying over the keys.
No gaze Dean ever gave anyone was more intense than the gaze that he gave the angel Castiel.
When those two pairs of eyes met, it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist, as if the rest of humanity, the rest of the angels, had vanished into nothing, and there was only them. And regardless of what poor Sammy thought (because, hey, there were actual people left in the world, and he was one of them, thank you very much), when they felt a need to keep each other locked in their own little reality that existed inside those blue and green eyes, well, they would do so without a second thought. Even if there were demons in the room. Even if they were being hunted by the all the freaking evil in the world, they would find any excuse to wrap each other with their gaze. It was like their safety blanket, their sanctuary, found only in each other. And Sam would be lying if he said that it wasn't both adorable and vomit-inducing at the same time; Adorable because he was certain that Dean had never had that amount of affection projected onto him by one person, and vomit-inducing because Sam, with his infinite patience, had to endure the eye sex and the lingering glances for minutes on end.
He stared at the page after he had finished, fingers hovering over the keyboard, suddenly not sure whether or not to feel mortified at the fact that he was writing about his brother and the angel like some kind of rabid Supernatural fanatic. He couldn't imagine Dean taking too kindly to finding out about this. Still, he didn't exactly want to delete it - he was quite proud that it wasn't a total load of rambling nonsense if he did say so himself - and so he hit the SAVE button, making a point to enter in a twelve digit password on the document.
Just in case Dean "borrowed" his laptop and went snooping again.
II.
The second time was in Nashville.
They'd only just arrived in town, having gotten wind of a new case that sounded suspiciously like a vampire might be behind it. Dean dumped his bag down on the motel bed that had been dubbed as his and stretched lazily.
"Well," he announced. "I don't know 'bout you, but I need a drink. Sammy?"
"No, thanks," Sam declined. He knew full well what "a drink" entailed; it meant that Dean would find the nearest bar, get himself well and truly drunk, convince some girl to hook up with him, and then he'd take the walk of shame as soon as the sun came up. Not exactly Sam's idea of a fun night.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Kinda expected that answer outta you anyway." He turned his attention to the trenchcoat-wearing angel. "Cas? You comin'?"
"No thank you, Dean," Cas replied, and Sam could have sworn he saw a disheartened look in his wide blue eyes. Dean was silent for a moment, but then he shrugged.
"Okey dokey. See you guys later, then. Don't wait up, Sammy." He beamed at the two other men, before slipping out of the room in search of alcohol and women. By the time Sam had shaken his head in exasperation and turned back to his precious laptop, Cas had already vanished, off to wherever he went when Dean wasn't around. He still couldn't shake the look that Cas had gotten on his face when Dean suggested that they go out and find themselves some women for the night. The angel often didn't show his emotions, preferring to hide behind his stoic expression, but you'd have to be a fool not to notice how his whole demeanour seemed to change around Dean. It made Sam feel sorry for him in a way; it wasn't his fault that Dean was oblivious to the person who cared for him in the deep, soulful way that he himself had cared for Jessica. He couldn't do much to fix it now, could he?
Well, not in the real world anyway.
Sam shook his head, pulling up another blank document, trying to force away the inkling that he was suddenly being watched by everyone and everything. It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong, as such; it wouldn't exactly hurt to write a happier ending, now, would it?
"Well, I don't know 'bout you, but I need a drink. Sammy?"
Dean's ever-suffering and ever-patient brother politely declined. "No, thanks." He knew Dean well enough to know that, if he said yes, he would basically be agreeing to unsavoury things that would wrack him with shame and guilt for years to come.
"Fine. Whatever." Dean didn't sound that bothered by his brother's rejection; he was probably hoping that Sam would say no, so that he could have more alone time with Cas. Dean was like that. "Cas? You comin'?"
"No thank you, Dean." Cas looked at the grubby motel carpet that needed to be cleaned, waiting for his charge to simply shrug and walk out with a wink and cheesy grin. Instead, he felt Dean's hand in his own.
"Well, then," he said. "Looks like I'm not gettin' my beer tonight."
"Dean," Cas said, in that really deep voice he only used around Dean. "You may go out and indulge in alcohol if you so wish."
"Nah." Dean squeezed his fingers. "Wouldn't be fun without you there, buddy." They stared at each other, their gazes just as linked as their hands, smiles on their faces like some kind of young married couple.
Oh, Christ, Sam thought (yes, he was still there, despite the fact that his brother had forgotten him). I think I'm gonna hurl.
Sam nodded once in self-approval, saving the document and sticking another password on it.
He was pretty sure that his version of events ended better.
III.
The third time was in Washington.
And, honestly, the third time was by accident.
Due to the torrential rain that had been plaguing the town since they arrived, Sam had confined himself to the inside of the motel room, choosing to remain in the dry and research the next case (so that they could be out of here as fast as possible) instead of going to stand outside in the drizzle with Dean and Cas. Although, even as he gazed out of the window at the drops rolling down the glass, the only thing he could really look at was his brother and the angel huddled together under their umbrella, talking about something that he couldn't hear; Dean's mouth was quirked up into a grin though, and he had an arm around Cas' shoulder, keeping the angel close to his side and out of the downpour. The younger Winchester wasn't sure whether to smile at the overall sickingness of it all, or scream and start to tug his hair out at how dense the two of them were being. He let out a sigh, shaking his head, his pen absentmindedly scoring squiggles and patterns across the pad of notepaper sitting beside his laptop. Damn his brother. And damn Castiel too for being so freaking blind to their own feelings. Being the third wheel was proving to be more hard work than Sam ever envisioned, especially when you were the third wheel to two people who had been tiptoeing around each other for years.
The prospect of finding a new case seemed to slip even more from his mind as the minutes passed, his attention span dancing out of the window as he continued to doodle, sometimes writing the odd word here and there: Sam. Sammy. Moose. Dean. Castiel. Density. Rain.
Sam wasn't quite sure how it happened, but one moment he was trying to see how neatly he could write his own name (the verdict was actually quite neatly, considering years of note-taking at Stanford and getting used to scribbling things down in the middle of cases), and the next moment, he found himself reading back over three short paragraphs that had appeared in the middle of the page.
On this day of torrential rain,
A moose called Sammy watched in pain,
For he was watching his brother Dean,
And the angel who was becoming more humane,
Even when Sammy tried to push and shove,
He still couldn't get them to admit their love,
Even when everybody else could see it clear,
Even when Heaven watched them from above,
And though people rolled their eyes at the scene,
Sam felt that there was nothing quite as mean,
As this, the freaking density,
Of the angel Castiel and his human Dean.
Sheesh, he was really getting into this fan fiction thing, it seemed. Maybe a little too much than was strictly healthy.
IIII.
The fourth time was in Texas.
The three of them - them being the two Winchesters and Cas - had been stuck inside the Impala for hours, headed towards Louisiana. Sam, once upon a time, may have been a little surprised that Cas was choosing to ride with them on the open road for miles upon miles - but, then again, Dean was in the car, so, was it really so surprising? Bit dangerous in terms of driving, though, given the looks that they kept sharing via the rearview mirror. Dean barely looked at the road as it was (he was usually too busy singing along to his limited collection of music) without Cas being there to distract him as well. At one point, Sam had offered to take over the responsibility of driving - at least then he had less chance of dying in a car crash simply because his brother couldn't pay attention to the damn road - but Dean had shaken his head, muttered "I can drive my own damn car, bitch" under his breath, and then finally fixed his eyes on the road ahead (although they returned to Cas about seven seconds later, much to Sam's despair).
In order to distract himself from his possible impending doom, the younger Winchester pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped to a clean page, making sure that Dean didn't catch a glimpse of the little poem from Washington that he hadn't managed to discreetly dispose of yet. It was all very well to write this sort of thing on a laptop; laptops had passwords and folders and harddrives that would make it harder for Dean to snoop around. On paper, it was all there, out in the open. Still, if he didn't want to die of boredom - before Dean crashed the Impala because of not driving responsibly - he may as well do something slightly productive to stimulate his brain. It wasn't like there was anything else to do, was there? (In-car games were a no-go, especially when Cas was around).
Observations by Sam Winchester.
Sam observed a lot of things. Observing things was his forte. It should have really been in his job description.
And, since he was the official Dean-and-Cas/CasDean/Deastiel/whatever they were called on the Internet third wheel (he should really get that put on a shirt; he could make a fortune selling those off to the Supernatural fanatics), he'd obviously observed the signs way before the two of them even had a basic inkling of the fact that what they were doing was probably not platonic. And, yes, that was even with the violations of personal space and the constant eye sex. Honestly, it was a wonder Sam hadn't started to lose it and descend into insanity. In fact, he probably already had and just hadn't realised it. Being around so much unresolved sexual tension tended to do that to a person.
"Hey!" He was cut off rather rudely as a hand suddenly came flying across his vision and tried to grab the paper. "Dean!"
"What'cha doin', Sammy? Writin' the next great American novel or somethin'?"
"No." Sam hurriedly stuffed the notepad back into his pocket. "It's nothing. Don't worry."
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't comment on it; he was probably already concocting a scheme to find out what was going on. Sam made a mental note to put his notebook through the next shredder that he laid eyes upon.
V.
Sam's fan fiction career came to a rather spectacular end, if he did say so himself.
It was another salt and burn case, this time in New York. Only this time, Cas had decided that today, of all days, would be the perfect day to play the hero, and so had gallantly flung himself in front of Dean when the demon in question charged at him, and had ended up being body-slammed into the wall. Sam had dealt with the bitch swiftly afterwards before stumbling back into the room, only to find his brother crouching over the floored angel with panic in his eyes.
"Dean?" Cas was peering up at him with a dazed expression on his face.
"You dumb son of a bitch," Dean growled, grabbing the lapels on Cas' trenchcoat and pulling him in for a kiss. Cas stayed unresponsive for a moment - most likely too surprised to really respond to anything - before one of his hands moved to rest on Dean's cheek, the other threading itself in his dark blonde hair.
Sam suppressed a smile at the sight, turning his eyes away in order to give them some privacy (and also to save his brain from being scarred if things started to get a little more heated).
He may have to bleach his brain by the time that this day was through, but this was definetly much better than any fan fiction he could have written.
Well, that was fun! I hope I did Sam justice; I just imagined that his fics would have a lot of sarcastic dry humor about being a third wheel all the time. He really does have infinite patience...
I also apologise for the terrible poetry.